Without the Rainbow
by Kazie Solo
Summary: Kouya, the carefree dreamer. Jirou, the resilient sidekick. Kyousuke, the sentimental genius. Kuroudo, the compulsive achiever. Four different people who call themselves friends - soulmates, even. But is their friendship meant to last forever?
1. A Fugitive's Return

This takes place in the year 2020, eight years after the series. However, I decided to use their manga ages instead, so as to lessen the time lapse by four years and thus create a less awkward gap. Questions, comments, suggestions and the like are very much welcome. Thank you and happy reading!

_Dedicated to Cathy, Hazel, Ivy, Johanna, Jorem, Karissa and Mia.  
__Thank you guys!_

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**01 : A FUGITIVE'S RETURN  
**_Even men of confidence tremble at the thought of facing the demons they've left behind._

* * *

Stepping off an airplane had never been so nerve-wracking.

What he felt that fateful day eight years ago, when he was about to settle the score with Takeshi Manganji in the 2012 World Cup finals, wasn't even half of the anxiety and dread that was racing through his system like an electric current gone mad right that moment. He wasn't just having a panic attack; he was at the verge of a nervous breakdown, which was downright strange, as he was a man of confidence.

_But even men of confidence tremble at the thought of facing the demons they've left behind,_ he reflected as he made his way down the ramp, adjusting his hold on the backpack he had carried with him during the duration of his flight. He tried to slow down as much as he could so as to possibly delay his arrival at the waiting lounge, but the stream of excited passengers, Japanese and foreigners alike, carried him off despite his will. All he could do to help himself was take one deep breath after the other, but even that failed to calm him down.

Five years. He had been running away for five years, hiding in a foreign land that was well beyond his demons' reach. America wasn't exactly what he'd call a friendly place, with people whose customs and practices differed from his own, but still he chose to stay with those strangers rather than return to his homeland. And it wasn't because he wasn't wanted back in Japan; it was, in fact, the contrary. His parents had invited him to come home many, many times, and so did his friends, yet he refused to do so, giving out an entire checklist as to what he needed his time off school for. To finish his projects. To review for his exams. To undergo on-the-job training. Even to help train a new generation of Gear Fighters at the request of Gina Firestone, the GFA Commissioner.

Yet he couldn't run away nor hide forever. A single document, composed of fancy pieces of paper bound together by a cute pink ribbon, was all it took to send him packing – the invitation to Kyousuke Jin and Lan Fang's wedding. And their request that he be one of the groom's men was one he just couldn't turn down.

Even if it meant facing his demons.

His heart thumped with much irregularity, like drums being played without the intention of creating a beat. Each step he took brought him closer to the confrontation he so dreaded, right from the moment he fled. And the unfortunate truth was, he had already crossed the line and taken a step too far that there was no longer a way out. He couldn't turn around and run away again, nor could he stay at where he was and let everyone pass him by as if he didn't exist.

The waiting lounge was only a couple of footsteps away, and the sound of everyone else's animated voices began to overwhelm him. Too late to do anything but move forward, he willed himself to do so, hoping against hope that he would survive the encounter and be able to attend the wedding he had come home for. He, of course, didn't fear physical injury of any sort, but an emotional assault that could cause more damage than any slap or punch would, and that was definitely something that would be more than he could handle. And a certain brown-haired, indigo-eyed girl he had loved – and still loved – happened to be very good at that.

But no one was waiting for him.

He didn't know whether he should be relieved, or whether he should panic. Sure, the people he somewhat didn't want to see, considering what he had done to them five years in the past, weren't anywhere near the spot he was standing, but they could very well be waiting for him just around the corner. That only meant the worst was yet to come.

Suddenly, he found himself laughing, causing those standing near him to either walk away with puzzled looks on their faces, or raise an eyebrow at his apparent oddity. But he didn't even seem to notice their reactions, for he had just come across a truth that shattered the aura of fear that had engulfed him upon his arrival in an instant. _He_ was the psychologist, wasn't he? So there was definitely no reason for him to fear being twisted, as he was the one in the position to do the twisting.

He then sighed, shaking his head. He was becoming neurotic.

-**x**-

"Kouya!" Marimo Marino gasped, a horrified expression spreading through her plump face as she rushed towards her son, who stood at the doorway of their family's restaurant, the _La Mére de Marino,_ with all his bags and suitcases. She then exclaimed, in utter shock and surprise, "Good heavens! Your flight was _tonight?_"

He scowled and then shook his head in annoyance, leaving his bags at where he had halted and settling himself down on one of the stools by the counter. His mother quickly dashed behind it to serve him a drink, and after pushing away his aggravation towards the safe zone, he answered, "Yes, Mom. It was tonight," in a voice that, despite his efforts, failed to hide his feelings of provocation.

_If Yuhya was alive and was the one coming home, I bet he'd even be welcomed with a red carpet_, he thought bitterly as he took the glass that he had been offered and drowned down the contents until there was nothing left. He didn't want to revive the resentment he had felt towards his brother, who no longer stayed with the living, but sometimes he just couldn't help but notice how his parents continued to favor the one who had departed. Despite everything he had accomplished in his life, from becoming the Crush Gear 2012 World Champion to graduating with a degree in Psychology at a prestigious university in the West, it seemed as though he will forever be second best.

And that was one of the reasons why he didn't want to return to Japan.

His mother seemed to have heard his thoughts somehow. "Dear," she began, taking her seat beside him as if she was just another customer, "I'm so sorry. Things just happened. Look at the mess." She paused to point at the cluttered arrangement of tables and chairs at one corner of the room, with broken pieces of glass scattered here and there. She then shook her head upon recalling what had transpired. "Gang brawl. Not an everyday thing, but it happens anyway."

He knew she was doing her best to avoid the issue, to the point of dramatically shifting the topic to another, but he could not help but be suddenly interested at what she had to say. "Gang brawl? _Here?_ Since when did you allow punks and gangsters to crash in here anyway? Don't tell me–"

"I didn't know," she answered, cutting him off in a voice that projected such helplessness. "That's how kids are nowadays. You can't tell who's a gangster and who's not. Even those who practically have everything they want and need in life throw away what they have to _'have fun'_. And you can't tell them to quit what they're doing, because they're not going to listen to anyone." She then shifted her position to completely face her son and be able to look straight into his eyes, at the verge of warning him about the dire consequences of becoming a gangster. "The thing is, even when you quit a gang, or the members disband for whatever reason, your enemies won't care. They'll continue to hunt you down."

He stared at her incredulously. "How do you know so much?"

Marimo only got off her stool and went back to her post behind the counter, shrugging her shoulders lightly afterwards as her initial response. Then, after helping herself to a glass of water, she continued by saying, "I hear stories from our customers, all the time. From disheartened mothers whose children were taken away by the lives of crime they chose to live, and from angry fathers who blame themselves for their children's downfall. Being part of a gang is an _'in'_ thing for people like you nowadays, you see. Your friends can even tell you a tale or two, details intact. Why, don't gangs exist in America?"

Of course they did, that he knew as much and that he told her, but there was just something a little wrong with the picture she had presented to him. Gangs existed even before he left for the United States, but from the way she sounded, it was as if she actually knew someone who became one while he was away. As she excused herself to prepare a _'crab meal'_ in celebration of his arrival, he couldn't help but sigh. There were things that still didn't change, but those that did clearly outnumbered them.

And he could only wonder how much his friends had changed.


	2. Pass On the Torch

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**02: PASS ON THE TORCH  
**_Life is never easy when you're left to pick up the broken pieces of friendship's shattered glass._

* * *

His greeting had been most formal; just a plain, "Hello," accompanied by a firm handshake. Yet even with such limited movement, he could see how happy his friend was at their meeting. His smile, his eyes, his voice – they all expressed profound joy and childlike excitement. It was as if nothing had changed in the five years he had been away, and most especially not between them.

And that made Jirou Oriza grin. "It's nice to see you, too."

They sat on the bleachers in silence, but only for a moment. Unable to stand the stillness, Kouya quickly engaged in a conversation, relating to his friend tales of old and new, from his escapades in America to the latest developments in the Gear Fighting world. Jirou, on the other hand, just listened patiently, nodding and smiling and laughing along, cracking a joke or two once in a while.

_Appearance and college degree aside, he hasn't changed much,_ he silently noted, amused. He was still the hyperactive, ever-prattling boy who had left to seek a future in the West five years ago. He, too, still had the childish spunk he had been known to possess, and while he was a full-fledged psychologist now, the fact that he was still a Gear Fighting enthusiast was hard to miss. And he was twenty-one.

But that wasn't what had been bothering him ever since their get-together commenced. And so, even though the younger man was practically in midsentence, he interrupted him without warning and asked, "Kouya, why? Why did you come back _just now?_"

The question caught Kouya off-guard that he was unable to say anything for a few good heartbeats. It was not that he didn't expect to be interrogated; he didn't expect to be interrogated _that_ soon. And most especially not by Jirou, the person he had been the closest to in their little circle of friends. He had shared with him his problems, his woes, his reasons… so why was he asking him such a question now?

"I told you, I've been busy. School, work-"

"We needed you, Kouya."

It was only then when he realized how large the stadium actually was and how little space they took up. Their voices were easily dragged away by the morning breeze, bouncing them off and sending echoes, eventually disappearing into the vast expanse of air that engulfed them both. And Jirou's statement, with the accompanying special effects of the natural sort, hung in mid-air and made him shiver in discomfort.

"Sorry," he murmured in apology, shifting into a more comfortable position and carefully avoiding the other's piercing orbs of russet brown. His voice was soft – too soft, in fact – that his guilt was already evident. "But I had to go. You said it yourself; I had to chase my dreams and find my future. And my future's not here."

"Oh? Please, don't kid around with me. We're friends, right? Let's just be honest with each other here. You weren't chasing your dreams and finding your future; if you truly were, you would've signed up for every Gear Fighting competition the moment you arrived in the U.S. and not locked yourself up in some university studying boring philosophies and postulates. That's not like you. What you were doing? You were _running away_. And that didn't make things any easier. Well, maybe for you, spending five years away from home and its consequent headaches, but definitely not for us."

"I wasn't on vacation, you know." Kouya felt himself losing his temper at his friend's rather straightforward accusation, but he willed himself to stay composed so as to prevent the clouding of his judgment. He could not avoid being sarcastic, however, try as he might. "And – allow me to remind you, _friend_ – people change. I'm one of those who have."

The baseball player sighed. "That's not the point."

"What's your problem!" he half-screamed, rising from his seat and looking at the other with angry, disbelieving eyes. His hands were clamped into fists at his sides, and he was shaking with impotent fury. "Do you think of me as a traitor because I left in the middle of a crisis, when you guys were at your darkest hours? Well I'm sorry!"

Not knowing what to do or say next, he simply turned around and proceeded to leave the stadium, half-running down the bleachers towards the exit. Jirou, however, didn't want their conversation to end that way, so he, too, sprinted after his already-fuming friend. When he finally caught up with him, they were in the middle of the parking lot of the said establishment, and Kouya had already climbed on his motorcycle, ready to run away once more.

Jirou wouldn't have any of that.

He gripped Kouya's right shoulder as tightly as he dared. He felt the younger man struggle under his grasp, but he wouldn't let go. "Listen," he began in a steely voice, one that indicated that he shouldn't be interrupted. "I did not come here to upset you or anything. And I, too, did not come here to be yelled at out of misjudgment. We did not think of you as a traitor, Kouya. None of us ever did. But you just have no idea, _no idea_, how dark those 'darkest hours' truly were. The divorces and the fights that followed afterwards? Those weren't even half of the set of big bad things that soon came to pass."

He took a deep breath. "Life is never easy when you're left to pick up the broken pieces of friendship's shattered glass. And by coming back here at this time, you've unknowingly taken that very fragile role as your own. Much more is happening here than Kyousuke's wedding with Lan Fang, Kouya. I just wanted you to know and understand that, so that when trouble rears its ugly head in your direction, you wouldn't be too shocked and still might be able to do something to help." And with that, he let go of his hold on the younger man's shoulder, turning away.

"Hey Jirou, wait."

But he didn't even look back.


	3. Anxieties of a Groom to Be

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**03 : ANXIETIES OF A GROOM-TO-BE  
**_Can love truly ease the pain of a troubled heart?_

* * *

"If you came here to annoy me, then I tell you, you already have. So will you _please_ leave? I still have a lot of work to do here. Unless, of course, you want to do them for me, which I doubt you can," an aggravated Vice President for Finance grumbled, not at all bothering to spare a glance at the person who had just entered his office. It was his last day of work for the week, as he had the remaining days off extending up to the end of the month, and so he was rushing to finish all the other tasks he was supposed to finish, not wanting to have any trouble at his return.

Kyousuke Jin was used to working that way. A true-blue workaholic he was and had always been. He didn't have a family – well, _not yet_, at least – to keep him occupied, and everyone else in his circle of friends was busy with their own lives that he had all the time in the world to spend for himself. And he chose to spend that at his office; if he would be busy thinking about his work then he wouldn't have the time to fret about the problems and worries that had been haunting him. That included the thought of becoming a married man in two days' time.

And he, too, was used to being annoyed by his secretary – a loud-mouthed, talkative woman his age who had developed some sort of liking for him. She was quite attractive, that he couldn't deny, but downright irritating. She would often barge into his office uninvited, with the reason that she was bored and just wanted to talk. He had gotten used to it, yes, but it didn't change the fact that he loathed it. He was never the socialist, after all.

So he was surprised when a male voice said, "Just take it easy, Jin."

He almost dropped the folders he had been holding. Quickly, he spun around, his features clearly showing his embarrassment. The person who had dropped by for a visit was not his secretary; it was his boss, the Chief Executive Officer of the Manganji Engineering Group. He immediately began to apologize for his behavior, which was unfitting for an officer such as himself, but the older man only held out his hand to stop him from saying anything more.

"I know the feeling," Takeshi commented with a grin, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder encouragingly. When he pulled back, the smile on his face had grown more mischievous, and so did the gleam in his dark-hued eyes. Tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers, he continued, "I didn't expect to hear an apology from you, though. I suppose I underestimated Lan Fang's ability to improve your personality – and you're not even married to her yet. But really, Jin. Just take it easy. All I need right now is your say on that budget proposal. Everything else can wait."

"If I didn't know you were married to Lilika Tobita I'd think you're an impostor."

"She knows how to bring out the best in other people, even the worst ones. It's her gift," he told the other, the smile on his tanned features unceasing. In a way, he had been one of the '_worst ones'_.

"Yeah. First Kouya then you," the former Gear Master of the Tobita Club pointed out, only to stop short a moment after, remembering the other person he was speaking of had arrived from the States the night before, but they hadn't seen each other yet. Neither of them seemed to bother, though it wasn't strange. He wasn't the type to go out and rendezvous with anyone, except perhaps with his fiancée, and he was busy with work as well, with deadlines to beat and reports to finish. And Kouya, well, he probably went to see Jirou first, as the two were almost like brothers.

Almost.

Takeshi's laughter broke his reverie, and for a passing moment he pondered on how much the once-haughty Gear Fighting champion had changed. When he found love, he seemed to have found – eventually, at least – what was real in his life, too.

"Don't rub it in, Jin. My patience with you can only stretch so far." By then Takeshi's smile had transformed into a roguish smirk that reminded him of the good old days. But they seemed so long ago, he could barely remember; the memories most vivid to him were that of the darkest of his years, and as much as he wanted to forget them, those memories would haunt him night after night, taunting him for his failure, feeding on his sorrow.

Can love truly ease the pain of a troubled heart?

-**x**-

The rest of the day had been easy for the young genius – in terms of work, that is, as he had little to do considering the break Takeshi had given him. But he almost couldn't stand the constant mingling he had to do with his co-workers, who seemed to be far more excited about his wedding than he was. And, making the situation far worse, his secretary had broken down as he gave his instructions on what to do during his absence, hugging him tightly and telling him that he was going to be terribly missed. He could only roll his eyes, and hope against hope that his part-time martial artist fiancée wouldn't drop by for a surprise visit. They'd both be _so _dead.

He left the office like a celebrity, and as much as he was used to being all popular, just as he had been during his glorious Gear Fighting days, he still wasn't comfortable with people who he barely knew coming up to him to shake his hand, to ask him questions, to tease him about finally tying the knot, or to give him a hug and wish him the best of luck. Some even went as far as giving him advice as to what to do and not do during his first night, which would've been quite funny if he was the type of guy who didn't mind people poking on his private life.

Upon entering his car, he took a few seconds to just sit down, hold the steering wheel, and stare at whatever laid before him for no reason at all. And, when he had considerably calmed down, he began to pull himself together and process the thoughts that had been running around in his head for nearly the whole day. What was he so worked up about? Getting married was one thing, yes, but aside from the possibility of mishaps during the ceremony and the reception that would follow he really had no worries about the matter. After all, he was marrying the love of his life, and that was something he had looked forward to for quite a long time. He wasn't about to let a nervous breakdown rob him of that moment in time.

It wasn't about his work either. He had made sure to finish everything that was required of him, and he had given specific instructions to his secretary, verbally and in writing, as to what to do should problems arise during his absence. And Takeshi had assured him that he wouldn't have to worry about anything; he would personally attend to whatever would come up during his leave.

Marriage and work out of the picture, his anxieties only pointed to one thing.

To one person, rather.

Someone he hadn't seen in a long time.


End file.
